


Kindness and Wit

by thelovelylydia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: BUT ONE CAN HOPE AND DREAM, F/M, I KNOW IT'S NOT GONNA HAPPEN THIS WAY, Originally Posted on Tumblr, REUNION FICT
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-01
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 20:45:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11676759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thelovelylydia/pseuds/thelovelylydia
Summary: It has been a long while since Tyrion and Sansa have crossed paths. It only seems right that two people so guarded meet at the exposed top of the Wall before breaking bread, sharing salt, and drinking wine to share dark secrets and thoughts long buried.





	Kindness and Wit

**Author's Note:**

> This is basically one of my many thoughts of what Tyrion and Sansa might be like, what they might say, when they finally meet again. This is basically one of my many thoughts of what Tyrion and Sansa might be like, what they might say, when they finally meet again.

The Wall was taller than he remembered, the ice shifting beneath his feet as the bricks stood tall against the winds that blew in from the north. Tyrion held tightly to the wood of the shelter, his gloved fingers scraping along the splinters as his breath danced anxious smoke spirals in the wind. He had forgotten just how cold and brutal the north could be in his time in the sun. How long ago had his brief jaunt around Winterfell been? The Wall with its Night’s Watch? Too many years and too many slain kings claiming right to the Iron Throne ago. Now a bigger threat than even he could not have imagined had found its way to the south.

A raspy roar broke the train of thought and he turned to see one of the dragons looping lazily around the serene sky, ruining all of the snowy silence that muffled this frozen world.

How could he have forgotten about the other creatures, too? The ones he had dreamed of being real when he was a child. Begging his uncle to get him one for his name day. But the eggs never came and he gave up what he had surmised to be a fantasy by the time he had been old enough to be knighted, but instead was sent to a private library to design sewers.

The creaking of the moving platform caused Tyrion to take several steps away from the opening, not wanting to look a coward and a dwarf clutching to the beams as if it would save his life. He took a step forward, his heart pounding in his ears, as he strained to see into the swirling mists. Perhaps if he looked hard enough he would catch the icy azure gaze of the King of the Night, coming to steal away the souls of Westeros and lock the land in eternal winter.

“Jon said you would be up here,” the soft voice startled the Imp. He had thought it would be one of the guards sent to fetch him for the breaking of bread, questioning him as to why he had wandered away from the group. He had been prepared for a long philosophical answer about spirals turning in on themselves and returning to what was familiar, but he was not prepared for this.

He was not prepared for her.

“Sansa,” he turned slowly, his gaze beginning at the tips of her leather riding boots peering beneath her black skirts, daring to slowly ascend the carefully woven dress, the Direwolf insignia on her shoulder, the fur creature curled about her neck. Her fiery hair was pulled back and braided, a brighter copy of her mother’s previous style. Her jaw was set firmly, her red lips pulled taught across her face. Her cheeks were pinkening in the cold air, but she did not flinch as the wind whipped fiercely, billowing her skirts and sleeves and wrap and hair.

He met her blue eyes last, shuddering at the ice that had overtaken them. Those blue eyes had always been shadowed by something mature, quieter, sadder. Now they had steeled over, a protection against the outside world as the small girl he assumed cried out inside for comfort and affection and warmth,

“Sansa,” he cleared his throat, realizing now that he had choked on her name, its syllables sticking in his pallet.  _My wife_ , he yearned to say now that she stood before him, but instead he addressed her properly, “Lady of Winterfell. At last. No longer the disgraced daughter.”

“I see you have shed the title of ‘demon monkey’,” Tyrion’s heart raced as he saw the corner of her mouth pull slightly. “I have been sent to retrieve you for the welcoming ceremony.”

“I know it was impolite of me to skip out, but I wanted to see the view once more,” he tucked his thumbs into his belt as he looked out over the artic landscape. “It has been many years since I have stood here. It was next to your brother…or I should say, your cousin, that I saw beyond the Wall for the first time.”

“The King was raised alongside me, I still see him as my closest of kin.” She stepped aside so that Tyrion could join her on the platform. “But perhaps with some more affection than I once had.”

“That Tulley honor you hold to?”

“It seems to haunt me and curse me,” Sansa answered, tucking her hands before her hips.

“You have two brothers returned to you.”

“And a sister not far behind,” Sansa did not look at him as the two descended. “She has been spotted on her way towards Winterfell, making her bloody trail along the King’s Road.”

“A little spitfire since she was born if I remember the tales correctly.”

“The moon and the sun, that is what my mother would say.” Sansa answered.

Tyrion knew her enough to not need to ask which his radiant wife was. As Arya burned with passion and ferocity, Sansa rose quietly, reflecting the fervor of her sister while harnessing powers of her own. Always changing, but pulling the tides of opinion with her as she morphed and pulled, full and empty, rising and new.

“He should have made you the hand.” Tyrion said as the platform landed with a groan against the snowy ground. The ascent had been long, as he had expected, but had given him time to think about what to say to her.

Even at the conclusion, he still wasn’t sure he had said the right thing.

“You had best mind your company,” Sansa replied as she opened the doors. “King Jon makes wise decisions, I think he would have chosen the right hand.”

“But I know you, Sansa Stark. You are cunning and you are clever. As much as that Stark boy— “

“Targaryen,” Sansa interrupted.

“As much as he said you are letting on, I do not think he knows. Any man with half a mind can see that you would be a good choice as counsel.”

“He is not without it,” Sansa continued to not give in to Tyrion’s compliments.

“But I can see it in the way he speaks to Dany, the edicts he has given the Onion Knight, that he does not trust you as far as he can toss you.”

“Perhaps with good reason; I have spent many years in the service and the courts of King Joffrey and Cersei Lannister— perhaps I could be a traitor.” Sansa floated as she walked, this kingdom hers, the chilly air giving her life as the shores of King’s Landing never could.

Tyrion took the moment to grab her hand, knowing it could mean a slap, or even worse as the two were flanked on all sides by the Night’s Watch. Sansa looked down at him, her blue eyes widening, but her mouth remained closed.

“Sansa, you could never be the queen that Cersei wished to be. You could never be as cold hearted as she. She might have had you in her courts, but she only briefly had your attentions. I knew you then, Sansa, I knew you would survive us all. But you would do so in an honorable way.”

“Jon said that you asked after me,” she did not look at him, but he could see her chin wavering ever so slightly. “Why?”

“I…I thought about you often, Sansa.” Tyrion shook his head as he followed the lady. “I…I wanted to know if you were alright. You were innocent. You…you never deserved any of this.”

“I did because I was a fool and I loved Joffrey.”

“You were a  _girl_ , Sansa. A sweet, romance-minded, song-singing child. And now, you have blossomed into a woman. You know better, I know you do. Else you would have betrayed Jon when he was gone to Dragonstone. You would have turned people against you. Even I can see the way Littlefinger thinks he has you about his finger while you tug at his strings.” Tyrion sighed. “You are far too clever and far too…kind.”

“So were you,” Sansa’s voice was tight as the two closed the length of the training yard. She stopped beneath one of the archways that led to the halls, turned toward him, her gaze dancing about the horizon, her breath smoking in the air. “You were…you were a kindness, Tyrion. I never thought a Lannister was capable of such.”

Tyrion looked up at his wife, his heart pounding in his chest as she finally looked at him, her blue eyes rimmed red as she wiped at her nose with the back of her gloved hand. She shook her head, as if internally scolding herself for such display of emotion. “You could have…you could have demanded so much of me and I would have done so because I was scared. Because no one was there.  _I was so alone in such a strange land._ ”

Tyrion winced as the image of Sansa standing in their quarters, her trembling fingers pulling at the straps of her chemise, flooded his mind. How he had wanted her that night; but not trembling, not crying, not wishing that each of his touches would be withdrawn quickly and she could return to her solace and her silence.

“I…” Tyrion bit his lip as he willed himself to say the next words, anger swirling through his veins. “I heard what had happened with your last husband. Sansa,” Tyrion stepped forward, taking her hand in his as he had once done on their wedding day years before. “Sansa, I am so sorry. Had I been here, had I known…that would never have happened.”

Sansa nodded her head as she licked her lips, her eyeline flickering elsewhere as she fought for control. Her mouth bobbed several times as if she were trying to say something, but she caved to throwing her hands before her face.

“I hated you, once. I hated you for being my husband. I hated being in King’s Landing. I hated that I was married to such a…such a  _vile_ creature,” Sansa’s mouth curved into an ugly line as truths which were obvious seared at his confidence. “I never knew that your words were so true. I am sorry, Tyrion, for not believing you.”

“You were meant to go north, Sansa. To your home.” He looked about, surveying Castle Black. “But I never wanted it to be like this. I never wanted…I earnestly never wanted to see you scarred in this ugly war that is killing civility and honor as quickly as it has swept away the lives of knights and kings, mothers and babes.”

Sansa straightened herself, her hands wiping away the stray tears as she sniffed forcefully. She wiped at her mouth, pinched her cheeks. “It would not due to look unpresentable before the King of the North and the Khaleesi, would it?”

“No,” Tyrion chuckled half-heartedly. “Though I doubt the two will be paying much attention to you.”

“I’m going to ask Jon to have you back as my husband,” Sansa said, causing Tyrion to stumble as he followed her into the castle.

“What?” Tyrion shook his head. “When you could have any suitor in the north? Any handsome knight calling for you hand?”

“Gallant brave handsome knights are just stories meant for empty headed girls determined to love and be loved,” Sansa replied. “I have had my share of handsome men who yearn for gold and inheritance and prestige. I am a soiled woman with nothing left now that my brothers have returned. I have no wealth. If you were to not have me, then I will live alone. Perhaps become a septa,” the woman chuckled to herself, a cold sad muse at a jape. “I am doing you a kindness, as you once did for me. If Dany and Jon do not reach an agreement at the conclusion of the war and she is defeated,” Sansa’s brow arched slightly, as if asking Tyrion to challenge her on such a prediction. “You will be exiled or slaughtered. I wish to see no more of that. We were never separated by the High Septon, so we have not yet been divorced in the eyes of the Seven. It would only be a quick ceremony to appease those who pray to the gods of old.”

“How kind of you, my lady,” Tyrion replied morosely, but he understood what she was offering. Perhaps the King would grant the dwarf an entitlement such as Casterly Rock if it meant that his dear sister was cared for. “But I wish for you to be happy.”

“I have no more of that,” Sansa replied. “The war has left me living, but I have lost the joy I once inhaled with the reckless abandon of youth.”

 _Oh Sansa_ , Tyrion felt his heart shatter as he followed his forlorn wife. “Maybe you will find some of that, Sansa, when I bring you to Casterly Rock.”

She turned her face to smile back at him, a genuine soft, sad grin, before she stopped at the great door. “And here is where we have our salt and our bread and our wine in a truce until the White Walkers have been defeated.”

“May we never make pledges like the Freys.” Tyrion reached out to squeeze Sansa’s hand gently. She flushed at the touch.

“Come, my lord.” She waved her hand in a gesture for him to follow.

It was not what he had prepared for, but it was what he wanted. He had never realized how much he had yearned for another soul until he heard word of Sansa. Soft, supple, sweet-smelling Sansa. Her eyes were ice and her mask hardened, but winter melted under the touch of the sunlight of Casterly Rock.

And, perhaps, if he were the proper husband, good and kind and fair, his watch would be over. He would find no more need to be hand of kings or queens, he could go off to the city of his childhood, manage as best he could, pay fealty to stop another war.

And maybe, just maybe, find heirs…and perhaps home…in the arms of a Northern beauty. One filled with kindness and wit, crowned with flaming hair, and gifted with soft blue eyes swimming with laughter and hope.


End file.
